Remorse for the Fallen
by Kermit's Rainbow Connection
Summary: AU of Le Morte d'Arthur. What if Nimueh hadn't tried to sacrifice Hunith's life for Merlin's, and Merlin was the one actually starting to die? Arthur notices that his servant has been behaving strangely ever since he recovered from the bite from the Questing Beast, and is determined to find out why. So he starts to investigate.
1. Chapter 1

**Why do I keep on coming up with story ideas when I'm already juggling five other stories, three of them being crossovers? Oh well, I'll just admit the fact that by the end of this summer I'm going to be insane from writing so many different plots. That's okay, because if I am going to be crazy, that would be the best cause for it XD. Anyway, without further ado, this is Remorse for the Fallen, the other story in the poll I took on which Merlin story to write first, which tied with my recent story Arisen. **

Nausea took over Arthur's being as he attempted to rise from his bed, and he immediately collapsed back down on the mattress, rubbing at his head. The bite from the Questing Beast had been more fatal than he had thought it to be, but obviously Gaius procured some remedy for it, his recovery being the proof. He noted in his head that one of the priorities of today would be showing some gratitude to the old physician for his life, he had just nearly slipped from Death's awaiting fingers.

He couldn't very well just lay here in bed. He was the prince, and since he had recovered, there were certain responsibilities and duties he had to fulfill, even if he didn't feel quite up to it. Fighting back the nausea with all his might, he rose from his bed with the support of leaning his hand on the bedside table.

As Arthur observed himself in a nearby mirror, he could honestly admit that he hadn't looked worse in his entire life. All the color in his face had been drained, leaving only a shell of a transparent ghost. Bandages were tightly wrapped around his upper chest and right shoulder, where the bite had pierced his flesh. A mat of dry blood stained the white medical dressings.

His father had only visited him just a little over an hour ago, along with Morgana, and afterwards Guinevere had stopped in as well, where he had especially enjoyed taunting her about how she had made a speech to him while he was ill. Truly the only part he could remember about the whole thing when she had actually said it to him was "the man inside". After mentioning this, the maid ran off in embarrassment and he just grinned in reply. But there was someone missing, someone who _hadn't_ visited him, and in doing so had neglected his responsibilities.

"_MER-lin!_" his voice rang out, surely startling the whole castle in the process. It didn't take long for the lanky servant to burst open his bedroom door unceremoniously, who then gasped for air from the effort of dashing up four flights of steps.

"You… you're cured! This, this is great. Fantastic!" Merlin practically panted out, and his master couldn't help but roll his eyes at the spectacle.

"Surely you've heard the news by now, I've been up for hours and the whole kingdom is chattering about it. Well, I suppose you're happy because this means you won't be out of a job anytime soon, but you will be if you keep up this showing-up-late-business. And while I would celebrate with you, my father has already demanded there be a feast to celebrate my recovery which you will be at tonight, just as all the servants will be. Really though, my father is making such a big deal about nothing. How is my recovery from a wound a cause for a grand celebration? Is it that special or even important?"

Merlin muttered darkly under his breath, "Believe me, it's a miracle." Arthur glanced at his servant oddly for a moment's notice, but pretended as though he did not hear the boy's reply.

"Merlin, can I ask you something, and will you tell me the whole and entire truth?" Arthur inquired.

"Of course, Sire."

"_Who did_ kill the Questing Beast?" he questioned.

Obviously, out of all the questions Arthur could have asked, it seemed that Merlin had not anticipated this one. He paled considerably and attached his gaze to the floor, refusing to maintain any eye contact with his master.

"It was Sir Olaf," Merlin replied quickly, still retaining no eye contact whatsoever. Arthur wasn't convinced.

"Merlin, you and I were the only ones who entered the cave the Questing Beast was in. I know you're lying to me; you've got that, that _face_ you get whenever you lie to me. I asked you to tell me the whole and entire truth. I'll ask you again. Who killed the Questing Beast?"

Merlin hesitated, shifting his feet uncomfortably. "It…it was me. I killed the Questing Beast, after you were bitten. I didn't think that telling you was that important. I didn't kill it quick enough, in the end," he solemnly confessed.

Arthur widened his eyes at the response and furrowed his brow in confusion. It couldn't have possibly been Merlin who had killed the Questing Beast, could it? He, the crowned prince of Camelot, hadn't been able to make as much as a scratch on it before it attacked him. How the _hell_ did Merlin fare against the creature? And yet the boy made it sound like it was a less than ordinary feat not worth mentioning, and still wasn't satisfied with his accomplishment.

"Well, um, Camelot thanks you… for your persistent drive and your attempts to prevail in saving, uh, it. Thanks." Arthur winced as he finished, he had never been one for showing pure appreciation all that well. Still, it seemed to cheer Merlin up as his cheeks flushed red in bashfulness at the very allusion of his deeds. Well, the master couldn't let that get to his servant's head.

"But don't think that excuses you from your duties today. Honestly, I'm on my deathbed for a day, the room looks like a tornado hit it, and where is my servant? Not even at my bedside, but lying in his own bed, catching up on rest while he ignores his obligations! You can start by scrubbing the floor, washing my dirty laundry, tidying my room, polishing my armor, sharpening my sword…"

OoO

Arthur practically loathed these gatherings. Surprisingly enough, he much rather enjoyed when it was just his father, Morgana, and him dining together, it felt more _real_. Here, nobles stuffed their faces full of expensive meats, fruits, and wines till the point where Arthur could smell everything they ate since they had consumed such an abundant amount of it, the foul stench lingering on their breaths. He would much rather be distributing this food to the peasants of Camelot, who deserved it so much more. Joyful cries could be heard throughout the castleof "Hand me another!" and "Drinks all around!" and the frequent feigned "Arthur, we are _so_ glad that you survived that ghastly wound. You mean _so_ much to us."

Sir Leon, perhaps the only guest in the room who actually cared about his wellbeing, stood and raised his goblet.

"A toast! To Prince Arthur and to Camelot. May the kingdom be as lost without its prince, as it would be without its king." Everyone rose up their drinks in respect, and with ease poured the contents of their cups down their throats.

"Arthur? How are you enjoying the feast? I trust that today all has been well for you?" his father asked of him. He nodded, perhaps too eagerly to disguise the fact he felt quite the opposite.

"Yes, father. This is quite the feast, I thank you for it."

"There is no length I would not reach to bring you happiness. I hope that you know that, Arthur," his father confided, but then that moment ended as the king turned to chat with a lord of the kingdom. At seeing this, Arthur punctured the chicken on his plate with his fork rather forcefully. Although this feast was intended specifically for him, he didn't seem to be the main focus of it in reality.

On Arthur's right sat Morgana. Usually at these events she was rather animated and most of the time a knight would be seated next to her, chatting her up _as if_ he had a chance at the king's ward. And typically, Arthur intervened on her behalf. This time however she had barely touched her plate, and her lips kept twitching in discomfort. Every five seconds her neck would crane over to her left and Arthur noticed she kept glancing at Merlin with concern, but she snapped it back into place fearing anyone observed her odd behaviors. She was upset about something.

Sparked by keen interest, Arthur turned his head also to the servant to glimpse at what interested Morgana so about him that she kept this odd practice of looking at him. Afterwards, the prince couldn't blame her. Merlin looked deathly pale, not a natural pastel coloration. He faintly detected traces of sweat brimming on the boy's forehead. Merlin leant against a pillar, seemingly exhausted just from producing the effort to stand there. But as soon he noticed that people were staring at his strange condition he attempted to shrug it off, by strolling over to where Arthur sat and poured him another glass of wine from the pitcher. Gaius, also a guest at the banquet since he had cured the royal, now would not avert his gaze from Merlin the entire time; a steely facade painted upon the old man's features. It was only a matter of minutes until Merlin erupted into a coughing fit, in the process dropping the pitcher and spilling the wine all over the stone floor. The room became silent. Uther could be considered practically livid at that point just from his facial expression, but Gaius was soon up and out of his seat kneeling down on the floor helping his ward up.

"Sire, I must take Merlin back to my chambers, he is obviously ill and unfit to perform his duties for the night," the old physician declared. Arthur's father's features relaxed, since the king had now assessed the situation and understood the court member's argument.

"You may go with him, Gaius," the king obliged. Gaius scurried out with Merlin, his arm linked with the boy's for support, and Arthur could not help but hear the hoarse, rough cough that sounded as though it belonged to a man on his deathbed that echoed down the hallway as they departed.

However the period of silence wore off all too swiftly for Arthur's liking, and it was back to blissful merriment for the lord and ladies while the prince only had eyes for the door; longing he could just slip out of the room unnoticed. For he rather much cared about Merlin's ill state of being rather than the drunken state of the many nobles.

OoO

As soon as the feast ended, Arthur wandered down to the physician's chambers to check on his servant—no, friend. He was checking in on his _friend_, Merlin. Because while Merlin may be the lousiest servant of the palace, he was the loyalist friend Arthur had ever befriended.

He stopped in front of the wooden door, about to knock until he heard an argument ensuing from the physician's chambers. Even though this spit in the name of everything any etiquette teacher had taught him, he pressed his ear against the wood and listened in.

Gaius ranted, "How could you be this _stupid_, Merlin? I specifically told you, a price would demanded, and now look where it's gotten you!"

"And I will gladly pay it," was the stern response.

A lethal silence filled the air for a few moments.

"Someone's out there, and you had better hope they heard nothing of what we said," Arthur overheard Gaius whisper to Merlin. The prince stepped back from the door; apparently his skills of stealth were no match for the sharpened senses of the court physician.

"Hello? Who is it?" Gaius called out.

"It's me, Arthur. I came to check on Merlin," he announced.

Instantaneously, the door swung open and Gaius greeted, "Of course, come in, Sire." Arthur peeked around the physician to spot Merlin lying on a cot, smearing a wet rag to his forehead. His servant's condition peaked slightly from where it had been twenty minutes ago, but the boy still looked rather dreadful compared to his usual perky, healthy self. Admittedly, Arthur was no physician, but he could tell that Merlin shouldn't look like…this, whatever 'this' was.

"Gaius, how long do I have to keep this rag on my head?" Merlin moaned.

"Either until your fever goes down or until you stop irritating me. I doubt the latter will come first." Arthur took this opportunity to pull a chair by the cot, instead of just awkwardly hovering over Merlin's form on his feet.

"How do you feel?" After inquiring this, Arthur wanted to hit himself for asking the blandest and most generic question anyone would ask of any sick person. Really, did he have no tact whatsoever?

"Why do you care so much? Well, I suppose you're disappointed because you won't have a servant to perform every task according to your bidding for a whole day," his servant bitterly responded. Arthur grimaced as his words from that afternoon were seized from his mouth and were shifted so that it applied to him now.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, a messenger boy approached in the doorway, a small scroll curled up in his hand. The boy looked no older than ten, yet dark lines were traced underneath his eyelids.

He stated in a monotone-like voice, "A message for Merlin." Arthur reached out his hand to grab it from the child, but his hand was quickly swatted away.

"This is a message for Merlin and Merlin alone. You Arthur Pendragon are not authorized to read it. _Where_. _Is_. _Merlin_?" The prince stepped back from the strange boy, allowing him to walk over to where Merlin lay, and the messenger stuffed the crumbled scroll of parchment into the man's outstretched hand. The boy blinked his eyes once afterwards, and the dark lines under his eyes seemingly disappeared from his face. His eyes darted around the room like that of a small child's when lost. Arthur heard the kid breathe to himself, "What? Where am I?" The messenger did not wait a second longer and scurried off into the night.

"I don't know what the hell that was, but what does your letter say?" Arthur questioned.

"It's, it's nothing. I have to go…muck out the stables. After all, you said yourself that I wasn't excused from my duties today, and servants don't get sick leave, remember?" Merlin tried to cram the letter into his pocket, but didn't realize that it fell from his grasp onto the floor. The servant shakily lifted himself to his feet and started for the door.

"Merlin, you know you _never_ listen to my orders," the prince stated in confusion.

"Well, maybe it's time for a change."

The young boy strode towards the wooden door, but before slipping out, stopped in front of it and spun on his heels to face Arthur.

"Just—when I'm gone, _please_ try not to get yourself killed," were the last words that tumbled from his lips before he left and slammed the door shut behind him.

There was something about that letter that was making Merlin act this way. The royal picked the parchment up from the ground, smoothing the creases so he could distinguish the writing. The messenger boy's words rang in his head. _"This is a message for Merlin and Merlin alone. You Arthur Pendragon are not authorized to read it." _This only increased his desire to discover the written content the letter contained. Only two sentences were jotted down as well as a name down at the bottom.

_It's time to pay your end of the bargain. Meet me at the Isle of the Blessed; you know your way there. _

_-Nimueh_

**How will Arthur interpret this note and what will he do about it? I always thought it would be interesting if Arthur was more invested in the plot of "Le Morte De Arthur" and this is my spin on it. Also, I found it rather odd that the mission they were on was to kill the Questing Beast but after Arthur recovered, no one questioned its death, so I thought I should add that in. Well hopefully you guys enjoyed it so far and please review! **


	2. Chapter 2

**I cannot even believe how many reviews this got for just the first chapter alone, thank you so, so very much for those lovely comments! They make my day! I know I've been gone for a while. Okay, let's face it, a **_**very**_** long while. However while I've been really busy with other projects at the moment; I felt obligated to finish this one now. **

**By the way, the messenger boy from the first chapter was possessed by Nimueh to deliver the message to Merlin, just letting you know in case you didn't know what was up with that. Well, here it is, part two! **

The fear of mortality had never factored into his life before Camelot. Sure famine and droughts plagued the minds of the farmers of Ealdor, but nothing more concerned the little village in the kingdom of Essetir. However it seemed as though upon discovering his destiny and tangling himself within the ever complex Pendragon dynasty; weights had been shackled round his arms and legs, to be forever bound to his fate with Arthur. Now, wavering on the brink of cliff's edge, Merlin would plunge into the water's depths and drown in the prince's place—all in the name of the Once and Future King.

His head spoke the contrary to the cool waters he imagined would be his death. The fever ravished relentlessly through his mind; the flames of the disease to be his inevitable end rather than the flames that perished those tied to the stake.

Merlin did not want his friends sitting at his deathbed murmuring falsehoods and promises of safety and security. He did not want to see them weep for him. His decision about the subject confirmed itself when the wizard noticed both Morgana's and Arthur's concerned, fleeting glimpses directed at him. So, the warlock decided it'd be best if he just slipped out that night, and finish what he'd started with Nimueh. The servant grimaced when the thought struck him that this method might not provide much closure, that he just left to muck out the stables and then upped and disappeared, but it was the best for everyone. Camelot would live because _Arthur _would live. And besides, what did the life of a servant count for anyway?

"_Merlin." _He spun about on his heels as an eerily familiar voice crept upon him in the vacant hallway of the castle where he stood. A voice from his childhood his ears delighted in hearing; for its warm, carefree manner had made him feel protected when frantic about his unstable magic in the past. And yet, the tone that resonated off the walls could only be described as cold, bitter, and terse. But it was the same voice.

"You shouldn't be here. You _can't_ be here," was his reply to it.

For there, standing all smug with his arms crossed over his chest was his old friend. _Will_. It had been just a month since his death, and it still haunted him. It played in his head over and over and over again and still he could not rid himself of the sick image. But even with the haughty air surrounding the farm boy and the icy edge inflicted in his voice so unlike him, the crossbow that'd been his death remained lodged in his abdomen, a nauseating, dried crimson staining his pale azure colored tunic.

"_You know, I should be here. Living, breathing, doing farm-work for my mother. Mundane tasks compared to what you do every single day, but it was enough for me. But now I'm stuck with being dead, and you know for a while there Merlin…I was okay with that. Because I thought I died fighting for something—someone I cared for; knowing you would do so many great things. And now, look at __**you**__. I died and kept your secret so both of you, you and that prince, would live. But now, you're about to go and sacrifice your life for a man you've known a year! What will my sacrifice have amounted to, then? Will I have died in vain, just for your sake?" _Will argued with a deep resentmentlaced within his words.

He protested, "No, Will! I'm sorry, but I need to do this! Arthur needs to live; you don't understand how important this is!"

"_Important? Wasn't my life important to you? Couldn't you have saved me with magic, just like you're doing with him? Oh, but of course. Because it's __**Arthur**__. Arthur must live, Arthur this, Arthur that; when is he actually going to start owning up to all glories these prophecies of him speak?" _

"He will. He's already proven time and time again that he can do it. He helped defend the village from Kanan. He traveled far and wide just to collect the antidote for me when I was poisoned. He's passed three tests many men would fail, and shown he is pure of heart. He's a bit arrogant but honest and stubbornly true to his word if he gives it. He's a great man, and will be a great king. And he's my friend," Merlin objected with sincerity pouring into every word.

"_Do you have the audacity to call __**him**__ your friend? He knows nothing about you! He doesn't know about the things you've done for him, of your unwavering loyalty, and most importantly about your magic! He won't even know that you slipped out tonight and died just so he could continue living! How do you accept any of this?" _

"Because I believe in Arthur and what he will accomplish one day," the warlock asserted with a certain, rather unfamiliar finality imposed in his speech. "And I'm sorry Will that you're dead. Believe me I am _so_ sorry. But you can't change what will happen to me just like how I couldn't change what happened to you. It's my time."

At his words, Will faded into obscurity leaving the corridor silent once more. Merlin clutched at his forehead desperately to stop the stinging sensation pounding through it, and slid down the stone wall behind him a little in defeat. Great. The fever had progressed to hallucinations, frightfully vivid ones at that, and he feared madness would overtake him before he even reached the Isle of the Blessed.

He shouldn't have believed that was Will, for it was nothing like the farm boy that had once been his closest confidant. Even on his deathbed, Will remained loyal to the end, spluttering out lies in pain just to save his destiny with Arthur. If revived from the dead, he would've never spat those accusations at him. But the hallucination did because that's what _Merlin_ thought Will should have said to him.

The symptoms of the disease were steadily growing worse, developing on a dark track even the servant hadn't foreseen. It must have been Nimueh's way of issuing her terms: he either died by her hand on the little island, or died where he currently stood. Personally, he did not prefer the latter.

Another voice intruded upon his now fragile mind, it certainly didn't belong to Will, and if he was not mistaken in mind Merlin knew its owner quite well. Kilgharrah, once again beckoning for him to travel down the deep caverns underneath the castle and visit the dragon in his dreary prison, most likely to discuss the current state of the young Pendragon and whether the magic did its work. _Well_, Merlin could most certainly attest to that.

Staggering from his place at the floor quite shakily, the warlock stumbled down the hall worse than usual due to certain circumstances, gripping tightly at his head for fear if he loosened his grasp he would never walk relatively upright again.

A hand placed itself gently on his shoulder, and startled by the person's sudden appearance, Merlin whipped around only to find Gwen and Morgana standing in front of him, exchanging worried glances.

"Merlin," the maid began in a kind tone, "What are you doing roaming around the castle by yourself? You collapsed not an hour ago in the throne room. We were about to see how you were doing at Gaius's, but if anything you're looking worse! Why don't we take back down to see him?"

"No!" He immediately opposed. He then amended the abrupt statement by insisting calmly, "No, you can't. Um…Arthur's got me doing chores; you know how stubborn he is about those things. And I'm fine, Gwen. Just fine."

Morgana huffed with an air of distaste at the explanation. "That man would not raise his hand an inch for anything if it were at his own expense! I'll try to talk some sense into Arthur, but in the meantime Merlin don't overwork yourself, get plenty of rest when you get the chance, and don't aggravate that fever of yours."

"Alright, _mum_," Merlin teased in an attempt to persuade the two girls all was well.

The tactic proved to be effective as they rolled their eyes in an affectionate manner, and both offered words of comfort before resuming their walk to their original destination. Within minutes the warlock was bounding down the stairs to the dragon's lair as its calling grew more and more insistent. Although as he journeyed down there he couldn't help but wonder what on earth they could discuss other than: _"Yes, Kilgharrah your advice worked, as it always does, so now that I'm dying you'll just have to find someone else to clean up Arthur's messes." _From there the wizard thought the conversation would get on _just_ swimmingly.

He stumbled on the worn ledge of the caves, nearly tipping over the edge itself as his attention was occupied with the throbbing feeling in his head. At this the dragon observed him in a strange sort of interest, almost resembling something of concern.

"Young warlock?"

"Hmm?" Was the chaste reply uttered by the servant, so pitifully quiet.

"I may be old but that does not mean I am blind. You are obviously ill, unnaturally so. I have my suspicions, but I must be sure of it. Whose life did you exchange for Arthur's?"

The young warlock in question lifted his gaze to meet Kilgharrah's, flashing a mild bewilderment in his eyes at the inquiry.

"You told me Arthur needs to live. I only did as you said. You must have known about the consequences, even Gaius did," he answered.

"Yes, I indeed knew of the consequences, but I thought you would have taken them into consideration. May I remind you I also told you in the past that Arthur cannot complete his destiny without you. There will be no purpose in Arthur's recovery if you die in his place."

"_No purpose_?" Merlin repeated dubiously. "Of course there's a purpose! Arthur must succeed Uther to the throne in order him to bring magic back to the land! He can't do that if he's dead!" A coughing fit seized him shortly afterwards from his effort to project his voice.

The great beast emitted a low, frustrated growl deep from his throat at his response.

Kilgharrah bellowed, "Albion cannot be created without you! You have witnessed the many dangers he faces on a daily basis; you know you are the only person who can and has defended him. Should any enemy come to Camelot he will die at their hand!"

"Well he'll just have to watch his backside more carefully without me then! What else did you expect me to do? I did as you advised me; I don't see why you should be so angry about it when you suggested it in the first place! If you knew that I would die if I went to the Isle of the Blessed…" His voice trailed off there as realization dawned upon him. Kilgharrah hadn't intended for _him_ to sacrifice _his_ life. Merlin added, "Whose life did you expect me to sacrifice? Uther's? Gaius's? Uther admittedly is a terrible man but I will not kill him as an act of revenge. And as for Gaius I would _never_—"

Kilgharrah interjected, "Young warlock, you do not understand the severity of your actions. On the chance that the prince may survive Uther, he will never accept magic into the land and be just the same man as his father before him without your guidance. And if magic is never restored to the land I will never be free of this prison."

"Oh, so that's it then, isn't it? I'm the only way you get out of here. You expected me to sacrifice another's life, an _innocent_ life not tangled up in this mess, just to meet your own ends. I thought I could trust you! Never have I met a more selfish creature than you, and perhaps that's due to your wrongful imprisonment, but nevertheless I will not help you any longer. As I die, your chances of freedom die with me. Both you and I will never see light of day again."

"Merlin!"

Kilgharrah called out his name in vain, as Merlin was already unsteadily racing up the steps with his torch in hand. A sweltering wave of sudden warmth prickled at his spine, and, upon spinning about, he found the cause of this wave of heat at the bottom of the stairs. A blinding mass of flames fully encompassed the opening to the ledge, undoubtedly issued from the angered dragon's mouth. Although far out of the inferno's reach, it still shook Merlin to his very core.

His throat hoarse, his hands clammy, his stance weakening, his mind feverish, his perception of reality fading by the minute: Merlin didn't think he would have died so young, or so painfully. Time was like fluid; seconds to him really being minutes at some points, other times every conversation stretched onwards to eternity.

He just needed to sleep, a little bit. He wouldn't mind if he slept forever. After all, didn't he deserve that at least? He thought he had paid his debt to society, to destiny, why not just be over and done with it? Then realism struck him. He would never see any of his friends again. He would never be welcomed into his mother's open arms, an aura of home washing of him as it always did whenever he visited Ealdor. He would never clean Arthur's armor again or Gaius's leech-tank. How such menial, awful tasks seemed such a joy to him now that he would never have the chance to do them again. He couldn't very well set about changing it though; he'd been marked for death in Arthur's place.

_Now, wavering on the brink of cliff's edge, Merlin would plunge into the water's depths and drown in the prince's place—all in the name of the Once and Future King_.

It was time for Merlin to serve his master one more time.

All in the name of the Once and Future King.

OoO

Arthur fiddled the note in his hands, squeezing it until the parchment compressed into a crumbled sphere in his palm, afterwards smoothing the creases he had caused in a repetitive cycle. What was he to make of this? _Sort through the facts you have_, he reminded himself. This Nimueh had bargained with Merlin. What did they bargain over? Why did they bargain in the first place? Who even was she? And how did Merlin know her? Too many, too many questions and nothing could supply a logical answer to any of them. One thing remained for certain though. His manservant had behaved rather strangely after reading that message. Whether it was out of fear or agitation, he did not know, but he vowed to find out.

The prince called out, "Gaius?"

"I was about to bring Merlin back here, he's far too ill to be performing his duties tonight. If I may leave, Sire?" the physician asked heading towards the door.

"No," he answered sternly. The old man turned around, evidently not anticipating that to be his reply. Nonetheless, the master was resolute in discovering what shady deal his servant had ensnared himself within, one way or another. Gaius retreated from the door, begrudgingly Arthur noted, and took a seat in a nearby chair.

"What is the matter, my Lord?" Gaius inquired patiently, as he always did.

"You and Merlin were having an argument before I came in here. He was saying he would pay a price. That wouldn't be linked to this message, by any chance?"

The court member warily eyed the parchment handed over to him, as if he already knew the contents of the letter, but read it anyway. The note slipped from his grasp. His eyes shot up at him in a frantic manner, his hands twitching fretfully, and look of horror plastered his features.

"Sire, I must request that I leave immediately."

Arthur responded, "Not until you tell me what is going on."

"Something far beyond your understanding. Foul things are at play here. Things of a different nature, one that is not so forgiving. May I take my leave, Prince Arthur?" The physician repeated for the third time, exasperatingly so.

"What things? Gaius, you will regret withholding information from me. Just tell me what Merlin has done. I can help him, whatever it is that he's gotten into," he pleaded.

Gaius rose from his seat, pacing the floor anxiously. Sweat brimmed on his forehead due to pure anxiety, not physical exertion, obviously troubled. His brow furrowed in the deepest concentration, his analytical, scientific mind ticking away rapidly.

The elder snapped at him, "No, you cannot! I am afraid there is nothing you can do this time, Arthur. Nothing that could be solved with swords and bloodshed on your part. It's not just what Merlin has done; it's what he will do! He's just a foolish, naïve boy thinking he can strike a deal with the devil in order to pay the losses!"

"What do you—" he started but stopped short as the door burst open. An obviously riled Morgana stormed into the chambers with her maid, Guinevere, tagging along meekly as she always did.

"Arthur Pendragon, at times I cannot believe your impertinence!" She cried out in a fierce manner, he sighing in return.

"Listen, Morgana, whatever wrong it is I've done, can you save your berating of me for later? I'm discussing a very important matter here with Gaius."

The Lady snapped, "Well, I think Gaius will understand that you can continue your conversation with him _later_. We just saw Merlin roaming the halls, ill beyond belief! And you sent him off to do chores like the stubborn, insolent, lazy, petulant child you are!"

"Enough!" The prince shouted, holding his hand up. "Now what did he say exactly?"

"He said that you sent him to do chores for you, my Lord. He said that there'd be no convincing of you ordering him otherwise," Guinevere said, supplying the answer.

"But I never sent Merlin to do chores for me; he said he was going to muck out the stables of his own free…will." His voice dropped considerably at the last few words.

Memories from many minutes ago shed themselves in the light, when they should've long beforehand.

_Meet me at the Isle of the Blessed. _

"_I have to go…muck out the stables."_ The hesitance in his voice, how had Arthur not noticed earlier? Merlin, if he could help it, would never voluntarily go and muck out the stables. Realization hit him hard over the head. A lie, an excuse, just to keep him at bay long enough. His servant planned to travel to the Isle of the Blessed. Still, Arthur had (admittedly little) time as his ally in his decided pursuit. The prince sprang from his seat, dashing for the door.

"I'll bring him back Gaius, wherever he's gone," he promised while slipping out the exit.

"No, Arthur! You must not interfere—" but the rest of the man's words only fell upon the two girls in his quarters.

Bolting out to the stables, the royal found one of the mares already missing, and at learning this he cursed under his breath. However, if his ears did not deceive him, the gallop of a horse could be heard unmistakably in the distance. Acknowledging this was his best lead, his only lead, he followed the sound of the rider with a stallion of his own. The horseman and his steed luckily did not jaunt at full speed. Using this to his benefit, Arthur caught up with the man, but kept enough space from him so that the jockey would not notice his presence. He smiled as he recognized the back of an all too familiar brown jacket gleam off the light of the stars.

Merlin was very well known for unintentionally being particularly noisy.

Never before did Arthur think that could be used as an advantage.

**That's where I'm going to stop guys! Wow, it took almost three months for this update. All I can say is: sorry? Whoops! Time really flew by, as did summer, and I found obligations such as my dogs and school getting in the way of finishing this chapter. **

**I used the "apparition" of Will because really he was Merlin's closest friend as a child, and I don't think the show gave enough closure for his death. I mean, Merlin cried at Balinor's death (which was perfectly justified) and **_**not**_** Will's? I don't know, I just thought I would add that in there to add some drama to the whole fever thing. **

**Morgana and Gwen made brief cameos in this. Yay! They probably won't show up again, if you're wondering, since this is more centered on Arthur and Merlin.**

**I know, I made Kilgharrah an egotistical jerk like they did in the finale of the first season, but… it needed to be done. As much I enjoy Kilgharrah, he can be pretty selfish and just because this is an AU doesn't mean I'm going to change that fact. **

**Wow, I wrote a super long Author's Note. I tend to do that a lot in order to explain things. So, with Arthur tailing Merlin will he finally discover the truth about the events of the past few days? Will he prevent Merlin's death from even happening? Or will a truth be unveiled that might change his perception forever? I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and please review! **


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